


To See in All Directions

by ellerean



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: Nothing went right, if you were to ask them individually.Together, it was magical.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saezutte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezutte/gifts).



> Since we decided this was a Christmas/New Year's/general holiday exchange, it means I'm not late! :D
> 
> As soon as I saw a potential "Rin and Haru in New York" prompt, it had to be mine. This is my stomping ground, and I just knew how much Haru would love the crowds around Christmas... heh
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAY(S)
> 
> (I may have stolen the title from Death Cab for Cutie's _Marching Bands of Manhattan_.)

 

 It wasn’t that Haru didn’t know cold. He grew up by the ocean; he knew biting wind and temperatures so low his damp hair froze. He knew what it was like for your feet to burn beneath the kotatsu while your head was still cold, to clench your hands into fists inside damp mittens.

“It’s cold,” he said aloud, in Japanese, to no one.

It would be a Christmas miracle for anyone to understand him anyway, sitting by the dried-out fountain in Central Park. The tree across the path was a welcomed sight, the bare bones of a towering sakura, unnaturally transplanted from its home—much like himself. It must have felt a similar longing for spring, for light jacket weather, for skies that didn’t resemble the underside of grilled fish.

Haru sneezed. He checked his watch. He rubbed his mittened hands together.

“There you are!”

The first relief was hearing his native language in the semi-desolate park. The second, as he turned, was Rin’s ear-splitting grin. His cheeks were rosy, and his hair stuck out from a gray knitted hat. He resembled an orange marshmallow in his puffer coat with matching gloves, arms outstretched as he quickened his pace.

Haru permitted the hug. He closed his eyes, absorbing the warmth of Rin’s ridiculous coat. Haru was fond of peacoats himself. But peacoats were not as warm as whatever lined the inside of Rin’s padding, so thick he could barely feel Rin beneath it.

Four months, he marveled, that they’d only spoken over video chats. Or via text messages. The last time they’d met in person, they’d been swimming outdoors. It had been too hot for much of anything else, but hot weather meant outdoor pools. Cold weather meant too many layers, but also warm, too-long hugs in the middle of foreign cities.

Haru finally pulled away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Why couldn’t we meet at the hotel?” he asked.

“We can’t check in yet, anyway,” Rin replied, though Haru didn’t fail to notice the absence of a suitcase. He pulled his own rolling suitcase closer, but Rin wasn’t paying attention to Haru’s luggage. He’d already turned around, facing the dry and barren sakura. “Feels like home, huh?”

 _Home_ , a destination so far from New York, too long since either of them had seen it. Bouncing from one competition to the next, layovers in Switzerland and France and the southern United States, until deciding on a proper vacation. _How about New York?_ Rin had asked, the central hub of airline activity, millions of people flowing in and out of America’s biggest city during December.

For some reason, Haru had agreed. It had seemed like a good idea.

He looked up at the sakura. Its branches were encrusted with ice, shimmering even under the gray sky. Haru pulled his scarf up over his mouth. “Yeah,” he finally replied.

He dragged his suitcase behind him as they walked. Its wheels rumbled over the uneven sidewalk, bumping over pits and rocks. Rin’s breath was visible as he talked unceasingly, about the flight and the airport and the extravagance of their hotel, which explained his lack of a suitcase. “We can drop yours off, too,” he suggested, but Haru refused. It wasn’t that he enjoyed the added weight, but leaving it unattended anywhere in Manhattan wasn’t something that interested him.

Rin stopped short in front of a food cart, hardly noticing when Haru walked into him. While Rin exchanged words and local currency with the vendor, Haru stared up at the buildings surrounding the park. Central Park was an oddity, with its pond and its trees and the skyscrapers in the distance. At ground level, he could believe they stood in a park anywhere. When he looked up, he could no longer pretend they were anywhere else. He didn’t protest when Rin put an oversize pretzel into his hands, even if the pretzel was not soft and hot like the cart had advertised. The salt tumbled to the ground like snow; the pretzel’s outer layer cracked and flaked off when he bit into it.

“Not like I imagined,” Rin said, flicking a pretzel crumb off his glove. Haru shrugged, but his growling stomach didn’t give him any other option. The remaining salt was too salty, and he didn’t think the advertised “soft pretzel” should have crunched between his teeth. Rin walked, talked, and ate simultaneously, almost expertly, like he already knew his way around the maze of a city. Haru knew Tokyo; Manhattan shouldn't be that different. Manhattan, at least, was a numbered grid. But as they wound through the paths of Central Park, Haru officially had no idea where they were. His throat was dry as he swallowed the last of his not-soft pretzel.

When they emerged onto Fifth Avenue it was big, crowded, and glitzy. They stood on a street corner looking down the avenue, each shop window glaring in its holiday wares and lights. Rin bounced on his toes, due to either excitement or to see over people’s heads; Haru couldn’t tell. His hand hurt from clutching the suitcase too hard. He wasn’t the only one dragging a suitcase as they crossed the street, but there was a clear divide between those who _belonged_ and those who _didn’t_ —and Haru, with his fellow tourists, were clearly pegged as the latter. Suitcases and backpacks, families and duos, cameras around their necks or phones held high for photographs. Rin walked with his phone raised overhead, not even able to see the photos he snapped one right after the other. At the next street corner, when they were forced to stop again for the “don’t walk” sign, he threw an arm around Haru’s shoulders.

“Smile!” he said, smushing his cheek against Haru’s, not even giving Haru a chance to smile if he wanted before snapping the selfie.

The shot was blurry, his mouth agape with a partial smile. “Delete that,” Haru said.

“Fine, fine.” But there was no evidence of following command as Rin pocketed the phone.

One could forget the gray skies when being blinded by the glitz of Fifth Avenue. Haru squinted as they passed store windows, pausing at each on the crammed sidewalks. “Check that one out,” Rin said, pointing at a spot Haru couldn’t see in Prada’s window. Haru wrapped a hand around his suitcase’s handle, feeling every bump and shove as people ran into it. He looked away when they glared at him, their oversized purses and backpacks smacking him in the shoulder or the hip.

“Rin?”

There was nothing to balance on when he went suddenly dizzy, the suitcase providing little support around the crowd of people. But when he looked up Rin was _there_ , two people away, arm raised like Haru was a mile away.

“Come on!” he shouted, squeezing his hand through the crowd. It was a lifeline when Haru grabbed it, Rin’s grip firm beneath the thick, puffy glove. Haru stumbled through with suitcase in tow, rattling it over more than one pair of feet. “Sorry, sorry,” Rin said, before Haru could complain, brushing who-knew-what off Haru’s shoulders. Rin’s cheeks were flushed, his smile guiltily lopsided. Like he knew better. He protectively held Haru’s wrist, and Haru couldn’t be bothered to yank it away. The connection forced people to move around them, rather than through; it was a silent declaration that they were _together_ , not two random strangers who would be separated by clueless, careless tourists.

“I’m hungry,” Haru said, for lack of anything better. It was a small relief when Rin nodded, tugging him down a side street like he knew where he was going. For all Haru knew he _did_ , having arrived in New York hours prior. Having had enough time to stop by their hotel and discard his suitcase. Probably wandering the grid by himself, mentally compiling a list of things to see later, when Haru arrived…

It probably hadn’t been on Rin’s agenda to eat at a Chinese restaurant. But it was the first place they found, and the non-Roman characters on the awning were almost familiar. The buffet was nothing they recognized—even Rin poked at the white rice before scooping it onto his tray—but the food was hot and, if they’d calculated the currency exchange right, cheap. Rin carried both trays to the upstairs seating as Haru dragged his suitcase, ignoring the glares of other patrons as it clomped behind him one step at a time.

There were several tables to choose from, and Haru didn’t argue when Rin set their trays at one in the back. Haru could shove his suitcase into the corner behind him, away from prying eyes and anyone brave enough to swipe it from an indistinct Chinese restaurant. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until he leaned over the wonton soup, breathing in the wafting steam.

He’d expected Rin to still be talking. But he was inhaling his food instead, mixing everything together on the Styrofoam plate before scooping it with a soup spoon. Haru stared at his own plasticwear. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to use it—holding a fork was just like holding a pencil—but he regretted not picking up the paper wrapper that was very obviously chopsticks.

“There’re some great window displays down this street,” Rin said, “then we can head over to see the tree.”

The too-hot wonton burned Haru’s throat on the way down. “What tree?”

Rin smirked. “It’s like no tree you’ve ever seen before.”

Haru felt better, after being somewhat sufficiently fed. It felt a little warmer outside, too, unless that was the warmth from soup and imitation fish with rice. Fifth Avenue could be seen and heard, with the steady flow of people and persistent honking of car horns. From behind them, there was the distinct sound of hooves—and when they turned, came face-to-face with an actual horse-drawn carriage.

The horse side-eyed Haru, he could tell. The drawn carriage was void of passengers.

Haru glared at the horse.

“No,” he said to Rin, before Rin could say anything.

“What?” He looked from Haru, to the carriage, back to Haru. “No! I— I wouldn’t want to ride that thing! With you!”

Haru was getting worse at hiding his smiles. Rin had seem them enough over the pixelated video chats, a failed attempt to hide it behind a cough or the not-subtle way he’d drink from a glass. Even now, with his mouth hidden behind his scarf, Rin knew. It was the way Rin smiled back, that irritating, knowing grin as he threw an arm around Haru's shoulders.

Haru looked away, then snuck a glance at his watch.

“Come on,” Haru said, ducking out from beneath Rin’s arm. Rin’s warm, puffy-coat–sleeved arm. A slight breeze brushed the back of his neck; Haru pulled up the collar of his peacoat.

But Rin didn't follow. Haru stopped, several feet away, and watched him fumble with the zipper of his jacket. "What are you doing?" Haru asked, hands in his pocket and shoulders hunched.

“Here.” He pulled a scarf out from around his neck, which had been expertly concealed by the zipped-up collar. He re-zipped his coat, burying his mouth in the popped collar, the words muffled as he thrusted the scarf toward Haru. “Wear it.”

“I have a scarf,” Haru protested.

“This one is warmer!” He shook the scarf, like Haru hadn’t seen it.

“Rin.”

“I don’t need it!” He sighed, muttering as he whipped the scarf around Haru’s neck. Rin held onto both ends, like he intended to pull him closer, but then tossed the ends over Haru’s shoulders instead.

Haru looked around. “Rin, my—”

“I don’t need the damn—”

“—suitcase.”

Haru’s cold, empty hands flopped to his sides. They felt suddenly empty, like he hadn’t been digging into his pockets for the past ten minutes, belatedly realizing _why_ his hands were warm. Or, rather, one of them, the one that didn’t hold the suitcase. They were halfway down the block from the restaurant and Rin looked around, like it was possible that Haru had misplaced a giant black suitcase. “The restaurant?” he asked, hopefully.

Haru took only a moment to consider it. He sighed. “Yes.”

“I’ll get it,” Rin replied, already turning around.

“Rin, wait!”

As if Haru would wait around Manhattan by himself, like some princess pining to be saved. Rin expertly weaved between pedestrians, but Haru kept up—he’d picked up a thing or two in Tokyo—and they reached the restaurant's door simultaneously, shoving one another to get inside first. A woman had been on her way out, but now yelped as she jumped aside. She held her white plastic takeout bag with both hands.

“I _said_ I’d get it!” Rin cried.

“It’s _my_ suitcase!”

There was a brief moment of victory when Haru pushed through, distantly ignoring the paying customers he almost trampled over. Rin followed close enough that his constant apologies in English were getting annoying (“Sorry!” “Excuse me,” “We left something here.”), and Haru used the railing pull himself up the stairs two at a time.

“It’s still here!” Rin announced, like Haru wasn’t staring right at his suitcase, exactly where he had unintentionally left it.

Haru silently nodded, shuffling to the rear of the seating area to grab his luggage. The luggage with a week’s worth of clothes. And his laptop. And the bronze medal from their last competition. And Rin’s Christmas present.

“We can try checking into the hotel early,” Rin suggested. “It’s stupid to carry that around.”

Haru checked his watch. “Later,” he said. “We’ll be late.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “Huh? For what?” Haru hoisted his suitcase up for the descent down the stairs. “Hey, Haru! Answer me!”

Haru rolled his suitcase past the line of customers, who only mildly complained. This time, Rin offered no apologies. “You’ll see.”

It wasn’t yet time for the sun to set, but the overcast sky tricked them into thinking it was. As they merged back onto Fifth Avenue, people were taking off their sunglasses. They were looking up at the sky, or the buildings; Haru glanced up, too, to see nothing in particular. The buildings _were_ tall, and it made him dizzy. He wondered if it snowed in New York this early in the season, not even properly winter yet. The flashier storefront windows were across the street, which Haru willingly crossed so Rin could see them up close. Gucci, Armani, Polo; each store window was studded with lights, and mannequins, and mannequins draped with lights. Polo had an animatronic snowman wearing a stretched-out collared shirt. They didn’t go into any of the stores, but Haru suspected they would return. Rin stopped more than once to look beyond the window scenes, at the stores inside with few racks and fewer clothes hanging on them. There was definitely something at Rolex he was eying up, not that any of those watches would be in Haru’s price range.

Haru pulled his suitcase closer. Besides, he’d already bought Rin a Christmas present.

A salesman stood outside Godiva, welcoming people to the warmth inside. Haru checked his watch and nodded, ignoring Rin’s persistently curious glare as he admired a shelf of designer chocolates.

“Complimentary hot cocoa?” a salesgirl asked, holding a small cup out to Rin.

Haru watched from his peripheral vision as Rin thanked her, offering his signature smile. He wondered how well-known they were, if word of their names and faces had reached New York yet, and if the smiling salesgirl recognized them. He also wondered, as Rin fumbled the tiny plastic cup, whether she would remember Matsuoka Rin during the next winter Olympics, and remember him as the customer who’d dribbled expensive hot cocoa onto his puffy, orange jacket.

Rin swore in Japanese, trying to cup the dribble with his hand before it hit the floor, while the salesgirl promised it was no bother, no bother at all. Haru turned away, hand over his bubbling laugh, as he selected a gift box of hot cocoa and biscuits from the shelf.

“Thanks a lot, Haru,” Rin muttered, still in Japanese, as he patted the stray chocolate off his coat. The man at the register smiled at Haru, like he understood Rin’s foreign mumbling.

“It looks good on you,” Haru said, once they exited the store. The chocolate had been cleaned well enough, but left a distinct water stain down the front of his jacket.

“Shut up!” Rin grumbled. “It’ll be dark soon, anyway.”

There was just enough space in his suitcase to wiggle in the gift box, one benefit to carrying the thing around. Rin pulled up his coat collar and strode ahead, as Haru was still zipping the suitcase back up. "Slow down!" he cried, hurrying to catch up. People ducked out of his way, creating a path for the madman dragging a suitcase. There was a camaraderie of sorts, sympathizing with the crazed traveler like they, too, had once experienced a moment where time was limited while carrying luggage. For most, it was catching a flight or a train. Less likely was catching up with a long-legged friend with an angry water stain down the front of his coat.

The crowd grew denser again, but Haru recognized this area more. He’d studied the Google street view, to ensure he knew the place to go—and smiled when they’d hit 50th Street. He’d almost laughed, if not for the annoyance of pushing through people again. _What tree?_ he’d asked, like there were any other tree Rin would want him to see. Haru grasped his suitcase with one hand, and reached for Rin’s wrist with the other. Pedestrian traffic was gridlocked; it was the only way not to lose each other. Rin pushed a couple apart—they’d been holding hands a second earlier—to pass through, shuffling across the street while the red-handed “don’t walk” light flashed its warning. There was a brief reprieve, passing over the black-and-white crosswalk, where less-seasoned tourists dared not to tread when threatened with a “don’t walk” sign.

Haru couldn’t tell the difference between the sleeve of Rin’s coat and his glove. He hadn’t noticed when Rin had grasped his hand, rather than letting Haru cling to his sleeve like a child. His left hand was usually warm, being buried in his jacket pocket, but Rin’s hand offered a different kind of warmth. The warmth of two gloves, and of bodily warmth emanating from beneath it. Of the pressure of Rin’s hand, squashing his circulation so they didn’t lose one another in the crowd. Rin looked over his shoulder, flashed a _get-ready-for-this_ grin, and pulled Haru deeper into the mess of people.

_It’s like no tree you’ve ever seen before._

They still stood a block away. But the Christmas tree was tall enough to rival the surrounding buildings, dotted with colored lights and miraculously balancing a giant, crystal star on top. Other people swarmed around them, now. They kicked Haru’s suitcase and his shins as they tried passing through. More than one audibly grunted in frustration. Rin’s arm went around his shoulders, closing the little space between them. Haru didn’t have to break his gaze away from the Christmas tree to know he was smiling; he could sense it, their faces so close in the uncomfortable crowd.

Rin swept an arm in front of them, almost knocking a small boy in the head. “Rockefeller Center,” he announced.

The flashes of cameras and phones reminded Haru of more famous athletes, ones who were bombarded after record-breaking performances. They were slight pinpricks around him, surprisingly easy to ignore. But it was the Christmas tree that was the celebrity, towering over three city blocks. Rin was the one taking photos, which Haru would later have to get from him. Rin was the one talking to other tourists in English, then taking a couple’s camera to get a picture of them in front of the display.

“C’mon, Haru,” he said, pulling at Haru’s shoulders. “They’re getting a picture for us.”

The couple Rin had recruited was standing too close. Rin tried to back up, pressing up against a steel barricade that prevented—or tried to prevent—people from climbing up into the landscaping. Kids were crawling over the flowers anyway, posing with the adult-size wire angels that lined the walk up to the tree. Rin tugged again at his shoulder, and Haru turned around.

“Smile!” It was a simple English command, the woman holding Rin’s phone up for the photo and smiling herself. Haru pulled down his scarves, exposing his face to the bitter December air. Rin’s cheek was smashed against his as the flash went off once, twice, thrice. Haru checked his watch as Rin thanked her, then kept on talking in indecipherable English.

“Let’s go.” Haru pulled both Rin and his suitcase away from the crowd.

Or so he thought—his desired route took him through Rockefeller Center proper, closer to the giant Christmas tree and even more people. It loomed over them, impossible to ignore even as they focused on pushing through the unmoving crowd. They parted a little for them, the Japanese tourists with the big, clunky suitcase, but not enough for Haru’s liking. According to the online map, this was the faster way to go. But not with all these people, most of which weren’t moving, just staring up at buildings and the Christmas trees and taking up space.

Down below was the skating rink, where people glided around in circles. Haru paused, briefly, to watch the one man dancing in the center. He looked professional, with his black skates, or at least more professional than everyone else who clung to the handrail.

"Let's go ice skating!” Rin said, his voice entirely too close to Haru’s ear.

He nodded. “Later.” And continued walking.

It was Haru’s turn to drag Rin around, hands clasped as he lead him to where he thought the entrance to be. But there was the red carpet, welcoming them and the other thousand tourists. There was a doorman, like this was an expensive penthouse apartment. Rin looked around, but was blissfully silent. Either he knew he’d get no answers, or didn’t ask because he’d done his own New York City research.

The Empire State Building, Haru had initially thought. Something to surprise Rin on their first day in Manhattan, rather than Rin doing all the planning. But the more he’d looked into it, the more he’d learned going to the top was overpriced. And overrated. And maybe _too_ romantic, knowing Matsuoka Rin.

Haru passed the tickets he’d printed from the Internet to the woman behind the counter. It was a little past 4:30 but she let them in anyway, not that Haru had expected their assigned time would mean they had to show up exactly at 4:30. When Rin picked up a guidebook, Haru snatched it from his hand. It wasn’t until they were ushered into an elevator that Haru opened up the book. “Top of the Rock,” he said plainly.

He was almost used to the crowds by now, and the elevator was no different. Rin was wedged in beside him, peering over his shoulder as Haru flipped the pages of the colored pamphlet.

“The views are better than the Empire State Building,” Haru said, like he knew what he was talking about. Rin didn’t say anything. And it was so close in the elevator—with him and his suitcase and Rin, plus ten other people—that it wasn’t strange when Rin’s arm went around his waist, nor when his chin rested on Haru’s shoulder. Though they were ascending up to the top of Rockefeller Plaza, and would soon see the views presented in the pamphlet, Haru flipped through the pages. He paused at each, so Rin could see them. The arm around his waist tightened. Haru would’ve brushed him off, if they weren’t standing at the rear of the elevator, with only the wall behind them.

The outside air hit them like a rush, colder now being seventy stories above street level. The roof was sparsely occupied. It was an novelty to see the floor, to have control over when and where to walk. The clattering of Haru’s suitcase echoed without anything to dampen the sound. His hands were sweating now, the one holding his suitcase and the other holding Rin’s hand, and his neck burned beneath two scarves despite the drop in temperature.

Again, Rin was pulling him somewhere. Toward the edge. To the designated lookout point.

Rin squeezed his hand. _“Wow.”_

Haru didn’t know anything about the Empire State Building, not really. But he decided that the view from here was better, because they could _see_ the Empire State Building. They towered over it, like that little landmark was nothing. The sky was still a gray haze, but the sun was beginning to set. It sent flashes of orange and gold over the city, complemented by the lights scattered across the buildings. On either side of them was a river, dwarfing the island of Manhattan. Like it was any old island, and there weren’t thousands of people rushing through Rockefeller Center alone.

They walked to the other side of the roof. Leisurely, without bumping into anyone. A couple of girls smiled at them, an oddity Haru hadn’t seen on the street below. Rin waved, like they were friends; the girls giggled, turning away.

“Do you know them?” Haru asked.

“No.” Rin grinned. “Maybe they know us.”

Then, Central Park. Haru tried to look for the fountain but there was so much of it, and he didn’t know where to start looking. It spread out before them, the rectangle of park wedged between concrete and steel buildings. Though there weren’t any crowds to separate them there on the roof, and there was no risk of losing one another, Rin put his arm around Haru’s shoulders.

“You planned this?” Rin asked.

Haru averted his eyes. “You planned everything else.”

Rin squeezed his shoulder. “You still surprise me, Nanase Haruka.”

Rin was staring out at Manhattan, the sky slowly fading from gray to orange to black. Haru tugged off his spare scarf, and the cold felt good on his cheeks. He rolled the scarf into a ball. If he put it in his suitcase, he’d have to move away from Rin. If he put it around Rin’s neck, Rin would have to release his shoulders. So he held it, balled up against his stomach, which helped a little to prevent the wind from seeping between the buttons of his peacoat.

“Greatest city in the world,” Rin said.

Haru lay his head on Rin’s shoulder. “Tokyo is better.”

**Author's Note:**

> ([here on tumblr](http://ellereanwrites.tumblr.com/post/155215762348).)


End file.
